


With lighter lips

by TerresDeBrume



Series: Boxes 'Verse [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I've never seen you smile before. It makes your face different.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Finnick and Haymitch share a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With lighter lips

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the same verse as _Little Boxes_ but several years later. It's short, but I realy enjoyed writing it, so there :)

 

They’re sitting in the kitchen when it happens.

 

It’s always been the most used room in Haymitch’s house, though whether it’s because of the knives or the easy access to the cliff remains to be seen. And, anyway, it doesn’t matter to Finnick, because he never did get to truly spend time in kitchens before… before everything, really. But kitchens are full of sharp objects, boiling water and easily-thrown drawers, full of nose-filling spices and fire, full of the world and yet removed from its horrors… kitchens seemed right.

Much better than bathrooms and their cold, clinical feel anyway –the perfumes he can’t stand, the emptiness he can’t fill, the water he can’t bring himself to imagine running in the pipes and over his back. Bathrooms have the stench of Capitol engraved in their walls, and kitchens smell like Katniss and Johanna and Haymitch.

Kitchens –and specifically _their_ kitchens- might be Finnick’s second favorite place on earth, after the ocean.

 

Which is probably why that’s where they’re sitting when it happens.

It starts with an odd puff of air, a soft thing –not quite a sigh, not quite a chuckle- and then, soon after, a short ‘ha’, air pushing past lips that seemed forever sealed in the unhappy twist of a tired, tired man… Finnick sees Haymitch’s chest fill, his shoulders shake, his mouth stretch and –yes- the smallest hint of teeth, thin stripe of white disappearing behind dark skin when Haymitch catches him staring.

Haymitch’s eyebrow raises slowly, a question mark haunting the peak of its arch as black curls float in the ever-present breeze. Across the table, Noah is staring at Finnick, then Haymitch, then back again, eyes wide and nose covered with the kiwi jam he just dove in… usually, Finnick would already be fumbling with the tablecloth while his son complained – _I’m twelve, daddy!_ \- but tonight… well.

It can wait.

 

“What?”

 

Haymitch’s eyes have narrowed now, his shoulders tense again, and Finnick makes himself pick up the slack in his jaw, shakes his head, adopts and apologetic face.

 

 _Never heard you laugh before,_ he signs, lips tilting upward, but only on one side –it’s only half a good thing, after all, to say this after years and years of knowing each other. _Was surprised._

 

Haymitch’s mouth falls open and his eyes look around for something Finnick wouldn’t be able to give him even if either of them knew what was needed. The older man puts a hand on the table, millimeters from the knife –and that probably isn’t an accident.

(Finnick sort of wants to back down, but he won the Hunger Games when he was fourteen. He stands his ground.)

 

 _Makes your face different,_ he signs instead.

 

With anyone else, Finnick would make himself look smaller, weaker, but this is Haymitch, and although they’ve both stopped to use bending as a fighting skill, they still know exactly where the other stands in terms of physical and mental capacity.

Finnick isn’t the type of person who insults friends.

 

“How different?”

_Completely._

 

The feet of Haymitch’s chair scream against the hardwood floor when he rises and strides to the sink with their three plates in hands, even though Noah protests that he isn’t done with his dessert yet.

The back of Haymitch’s neck looks darker than usual and, for some reason, it makes the corner of Finnick’s mouth feel lighter.

 

Noah tells them he’s going back to his mom’s house and leaves, muttering something about people needing to get a room… Finnick firmly pushes the notion of bedrooms out of his mind and listens to the sound of plates trembling in Haymitch’s hands with utmost fascination –and yes, satisfaction, too.

 

(He’s never seen Haymitch being awkward before, either.)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and critiques are very welcome :)


End file.
